


Nightingale

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds an audio recording of Sherlock reading "Ode to a Nightingale" by Keats.  He needs some 'alone time' to fully 'appreciate' it.  (Includes link to audio)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightingale

_[(audio via youtube here)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8NJneIVXJA) _

_[](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8NJneIVXJA) _

 

“My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains / My sense, As though of hemlock I had drunk,/ Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains/ One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk.”….”

John swallowed hard and adjusted the volume on his headphones. God, that voice! He knew Sherlock could use that voice to command, to entice, to seduce…. But he could hardly believe it was doing all three to him here in 221b when Sherlock was the other side of London by now.

It was a singularly beautiful poem, and one that reminded him of Sherlock in certain verses. But now, to hear that deep, exquisite, resonant, melodic voice speaking the words…. In perfect stereo…. Surrounding his ears, his senses…. It was utterly erotic. And John knew what was going to happen soon.

“ With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,/ And purple-stained mouth;/ That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,”

Christ… Sherlock’s mouth. Stained purple with wine. Kissing him…. John licked his lips, and imagined tasting last night’s Montepulciano on Sherlock’s tongue, and then Sherlock’s tongue seeking out John’s throat, his chest, and lower. Oh, Hell. John was so hard now, and he began to stroke himself languidly through his jeans. Each stroke was a loving kiss or caress from that perfect mouth. Oh, God, yes…

“Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget / What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret / Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;”

The idea of Sherlock’s hot, feverish skin against his…. And to hear that gorgeous, gorgeous voice groan… but not in sadness, not like the poem’s speaker,…to hear Sherlock groan in pleasure. For him. Ah, yes, yes, for me…. John thought. Sherlock moaning for me… Sherlock coming for me…Ah! God! Oh..God…

“Already with thee! tender is the night,”

John was completely free of his jeans and boxers, now. Sherlock’s voice was drowning him, covering him, steeping him in honey, he felt. Each touch, each grasp was Sherlock. Oh, God, he’d never wanted anyone like this. He’d never wanted to completely possess and be possessed like this.

“Now more than ever seems it rich to die,/ To cease upon the midnight with no pain,/ While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad/ In such an ecstasy!”

Oh, Christ! Pouring forth….He wasn’t going to last much longer….. but he wanted to wait…. To wait until the last line…..like finishing with him…..like finishing together…..

*

Sherlock walked through the doorway to their flat and stopped short, smiling. He knew John would find the CD where he’d casually left it among the bills and other clutter. He’d mentioned a few weeks ago that he’d made the recording at the request of a local acting college – a lesson in dramatic reading, they’d said. He didn’t need to see the flush on John’s cheeks to know how the idea would affect his friend. And now…. Well, he certainly had irrefutable proof of the power of the human voice.

He crept, silently, closer to John, discarding his gloves, his scarf, his long slate coat. Tiny beads of sweat had formed at John’s temples; John’s eyes were shut tight, straining against the desire for release and the desire to prolong the pleasure.

Sherlock could hear the faint sound of his own voice. He knew the poem by heart, now – truth be told, he’d memorized it sometime around the years John was hitting puberty, — and he knew which verses came next.

He knelt down, stealthily, still unnoticed by John. He put one hand on John’s aching erection while simultaneously moving one side of the headphones back to expose John’s right ear.

John jumped with the surprise, but he pushed hard into Sherlock’s grasp.

Sherlock leaned in, his face touching John’s neck, his lips brushing John’s ear, and recited along with his recorded voice the final lines:

“Was it a vision, or a waking dream?/ Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?”

John let out a cry followed by a shuddering gasp.

Sherlock smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> http://valeria2067.tumblr.com/post/11591215809/nightingale-a-sherlock-john-ficlet-pairing 
> 
> Has the audio file attached.


End file.
